


How Phil Got Lucky

by orphan_account



Category: Marvel (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Dogs, Domestic Fluff, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Blow Jobs, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-06
Updated: 2015-01-06
Packaged: 2018-03-06 09:58:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3130400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint brings home a dog. A dog that really does not like Phil. Until he does.</p>
            </blockquote>





	How Phil Got Lucky

The dog had been all matted fur and muddied paws when Clint first saw him wandering around the apartment building. That had been before Clint owned it, before he’d driven those tracksuit wearing assholes out of town, before the dog had been hit by a car and Clint had forked out for the vet bill. So Clint takes the dog home, feeds him chunks of steak, and rubs the fur behind his ears.

And then Phil comes home.

The dog does not take kindly to Phil Coulson’s existence.

Really, this shouldn’t be a surprise to Clint—he understands the enjoyment you can get from being the sole recipient of someone’s affections, able to soak up all their attention, of having their eyes fixed on you, just you, fond and reassuring. That’s how he feels about Phil in a nutshell really. So he can understand how someone—like him, for example—might get jealous should that attention be diverted elsewhere.

But now it’s someone basking in _his_  attention, lapping it up like a saucer of milk, and Clint has to admit he doesn’t really understand why. The dog’s attachment is not unwanted but it’s certainly unexpected. 

It all begins when Phil first keys the lock and steps inside their apartment: Clint is on the sitting room floor with his back to the sofa and the dog curled into him as best he can manage with his current injuries. Clint mumbles excited endearments as the dog’s tail thwacks against the floor.

Clint to the side to grin at Phil who is now standing in the doorway—apologetic and dopey and all  _please can we keep him, sir_  with batted lashes and the unspoken promise of many sexual favours to come should Phil agree. The dog isn’t happy at all about that though, and rolls over, butting his head against Clint’s side until he resumes stroking through his fur, nice and easy, softly does it. 

And then Phil steps closer, eyes the dog and sighs. 

"What’re we calling him?" 

Clint shrugs. “I dunno. Lucky?” 

"How very original." 

"His old collar had said Arrow. That’s just too close for comfort you know? Painful irony. Besides, Clint and Phil? That’s hardly very out there is it?" 

Phil grants him that one, smiling softly and leaning in to press his lips to Clint’s cheek. 

The growling is a little perturbing. 

"Lucky, no," Clint chides, trying not to laugh. "This is Phil; he’s cool, you’ll like him." 

Clearly Lucky  _doesn’t_ though and he says as much with a round of aggrieved barking, refusing to stop until Phil backs up a couple steps. Finally content, Lucky sets his head in Clint’s lap, angelic as ever. 

"Maybe he’s getting boss man vibes," Clint says. "He just got free from those brutish tracksuit bros. Probably doesn’t like authority." 

This turns out not to be the case, Lucky adores everyone regardless of social standing. He’s even friendly with  _Fury_  for Christ’s sake, and he doesn’t even bat an eyelid when Hill comes home with Phil from work one evening. Frankly, Lucky loves the Avenger’s mansion. And there is an actual God inside there. In turn, everyone adores him right back. Clint most of all—even if he’s making it difficult for Phil to sleep in their bed at night. 

They have to keep their bedroom door closed otherwise Lucky gets in, slots himself between their bodies and whines until Phil extricates himself. It’s not ideal—their floor is all scratched up and he barks up a storm if he hears them laughing, worse still if he hears them having sex. 

"Clint." Phil’s done well, really he has; he’s been more patient than anyone else would have been. But a late night blow job on the couch has turned into a puppy pile that Phil is definitely not invited to. 

"Don’t make me get rid of him, Phil. He’ll get used to you, he will, and then things’ll be more normal." 

"It’s been three months, Clint." 

"Give it another two weeks, if he doesn’t settle down… well, we’ll talk about it then, okay?" 

It’s not okay though. Not when Clint gets called away on a week’s long mission to Dubai with Sitwell as his handler and Phil is left alone in the house with Lucky who won’t eat, whines himself hoarse, and almost chews through his lead rather than let Phil walk him anywhere. 

By the third day Phil has to physically lock himself and the dog in the kitchen, sitting on the floor in sweatpants and one of Clint’s sweatshirts that is a little ill-fitting, shredding a breast of chicken and trying to coax the dog into letting himself be hand fed. 

To begin with, it goes as well as expected. Lucky has his corner of the kitchen, Phil has his. Both males look utterly miserable, aggrievedly sighing in turn. Then Phil slumps down dejectedly on the floor and starts talking about Clint, how ridiculous he is and how ridiculous this idea was. How stupid he is for going and getting assigned a different handler and how goddamn much Phil misses him and  _why won’t you just eat, boy, because not eating isn’t helping anyone_ and then Lucky… well, Lucky seems to get it, seems to understand the desperation and the sadness and curls up hesitantly beside Phil, licking the chicken out of his hands with only a little preamble. 

Phil sighs; Lucky is warm and his fur is soft and he eats the entire chicken breast. Phil feels calm like he hasn’t in a long time. He hadn’t wanted to get rid of the dog, even if he’d threatened Clint with that possibility. The dog is good for Clint, good for their home.

Now, maybe, he’ll be good for Phil too.

When Clint gets home two days later, a little bruised but not too bloody, he finds Phil curled up on the couch, Lucky awkwardly draped on his back over Phil’s legs like a living blanket. 

"I thought this would do the trick," he whispers, moving closer to Phil and kissing him on the forehead. Lucky wakes with a start and Phil follows immediately and they both stare up at Clint, sleepy and adoring and Lucky makes no objection—after getting a sound belly scratching—to Clint taking Phil to bed. 

They even get to leave the door open, Lucky content in the hallway, curled up in his dog bed. 

"Very smart, Clint Barton," Phil says, kissing his way down Clint’s neck. 

If this is his reward, Clint’s happy to agree. 


End file.
